Get Behind Me, Tuesday

So yeah, the other day, the sixth day of the sixth month of the year 2006, actually was kind of a crappy day for me, but as far as I could tell there was nothing on the order of global pestilence, bee swarms or volcanoes of blood or anything.

It started off pretty normal. I got up, let Vince out, made coffee, got dressed, etcetera. I went to work - rode the motorcycle; didn't have to dodge a single imp or demon - and settled in at my desk.

In fact, it was kind of a better day than usual, because it was a co-worker's birthday, and we all planned to go to P.F. Chang's (her favorite) to celebrate, then have carrot cake (her favorite) back at the office.

Well, aside from P.F. Chang's having a 40-minute wait for a party of nine, forcing us to have lunch at The Ram instead, nobody spotted anything that could be categorized as armageddonish.

I had the chili.

In the afternoon I worked on writing a couple of websites, consulted on reconfiguring a room, and headed to my dentist's appointment at 2:40. Now, the dentist, that's got some potential for hellaciousness.

But no: the one lady cleaned my teeth and took my x-rays, then the other lady came in and said I was doing pretty well, and that we just need to fix the loose filling they mentioned last time I went there, in December. No biggie.

From there the sinister forces began to make their presence a little more tangible. Though I could have just taken the rest of the day off and possibly headed out to go boating with Penny and my sister Katie and her boyfriend Matt, some evil voice in my ear persuaded me to be responsible and go back to work.

I called Katie anyway, just to see if they were available later. No answer.

I then proceeded to stay at work for three more hours, for reasons I can't remember, working on stuff of no consequence. I helped Penny edit her bio and emailed her the revisions, but she'd already sent off the earlier version. "Drat," I said to no one in particular.

At seven I locked up and walked out, realizing when I got to the car that I'd left my cell phone on the console all along. Hey look, a voicemail! Let's see who called me...

Well, if it isn't... Katie... returning my message... three... hours ago...

"Hi Colin, sorry I missed your call. Yes, we're definitely up for the boat - give me a call when you get this."

I ended up going home and mowing the stupid grass.

But still: if a loose filling and a missed outing were the worst things that befell me Tuesday, then 6.6.06 wasn't half as beastly as it was made out to be.

Ha! Is that your best shot, wussy ol' devil day?

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